Alone in the Desert
by P. A. Foreman
Summary: Walter's cancer comes back and this time it's certainly terminal. He chooses to spend most of his time with Jesse. Told from Jesse's perspective.


I was in my living room playing video games when I got a phone call from Mr. White. I switched off the game and I paused for a second before picking up the phone, bracing myself for whatever he had to say. When I got a call from him, the phone almost always felt heavy when I lifted it to my ear as if the phone was just filled to the brim with the weight of the mess that would come with the conversation.

"Yo, Mr. White. What do you need?"

"Jesse…" His voice sounded different, defeated, and Mr. White never sounds like that. He always has hope because in his world, there is always a way out of the mess he's made.

"Mr. White, what's wrong?" I asked.

"I-I…I'll tell you later. Do you mind coming to the hospital? I need someone to pick me up."

"Yeah, sure Mr. White. I'll be right there. Everything okay?"

There was a moment of heavy silence on his end, like he was trying to say something, but he just couldn't get the words out.

"Lovelace," he said before hanging up. My hand and phone dropped to my side, and I stood there thinking, _oh my god, what just happened? _I snapped out of my trance though and rushed to my shitty red car. I should have gotten a Viper or something. I had the money, but I just couldn't bring myself to get rid of it.

I saw Mr. White standing in front of the hospital deep in thought, his eyes staring at the ground and his hands in his pockets. I pulled up in front of him and rolled down the window.

"Yo, Mr. White," I called at him. "Get in." Mr. White continued to stand there as if you found his shoes super-interesting, and I narrowed my eyes at him, worried. I admit that I'll never completely understand Mr. White, but I knew that his shoes were not on his mind. I sighed and got out of the car, walking over to open his door.

"Come on, people are waiting behind us. Get in, and you can stare at your shoes some more." I grasped his shoulders and tried to guide him into the car, but he wouldn't budge. "Bitch, get in the car," I snarled.

He looked in my eyes, his own eyes sad, desperate, and hopeless. A chill ran down my spine. "Mr. White…We'll go somewhere and discuss this. We're going to be okay, whatever it is. We're always okay. Just get in the car."

He shook his head. "No." Then, he got in the car. My eyes widened and I shut his door. As I walked over to my side, a million situations that we could have gotten into buzzed around in my head. Had a cartel come to kill us? Did his brother-in-law catch us? What?

My tires screeched as I sped away from the hospital parking lot to the middle of nowhere, where we used to drive our RV out to. I parked on the side of the road, and I sighed.

"Okay, Mr. White, spill. What mess have you gotten us into this time?" I asked.

"Jesse…She—my wife. She said she was waiting…"

I sigh with relief. "Oh my god, Mr. White. You had me all worked up because of your marriage problems?"

"Skyler…she said she was waiting for my cancer to come back and kill me," he said, adjusting his glasses.

"Yeah, I know, you told me. Your wife's a bitch. Did she say that to you again? Hang on…You had me pick you up at the hospital. Why?"

He turned to face me, and then I knew. "Oh my god. Shit, shit, Mr. White. Tell me you don't have cancer again." I placed my hands on the back of my head, trying hard not to panic and burst into tears.

"My wife, my kids…" He drifted off, staring at the desert.

"This is not the end of the world, Mr. White. Last time, you did chemo and shit, right? And you survived, so you'll survive this time."

"Jesse, the doctors said chemo won't help this time. The cancer mutated and it's progressing rapidly. I am going to die."

"No!" I cried. "You're not going to. You always survive. That's what you're best at doing. Death is your bitch! No!"

For a moment, we were quiet and the only sounds were my heavy breathing and the wind roaring outside the car.

"Yes." I turned to look at him, and he blinked at me. "Death comes to everybody, Jesse. Even me, and I'm going to need your help—" he's interrupted by a hacking cough. _Oh god, it's true. _"—during the last few months."

"Okay," I said without hesitating, staring at the desert. We said nothing for a while, and I started thinking about us. Mr. White and I are business partners, but we're more than that. We're life partners. I knew ever since I got on Mr. White's roller coaster ride that I would be stuck with him in the car until the end. At first, I thought the cancer would get him, but when he got over that I thought it would be Gus, his brother-in-law, or the Mexicans. The thing about roller coasters is that it always ends where it begins, and it began with cancer.

And so it will end with cancer.

"So…What's the plan?" I asked.

"The plan is we continue cooking and distributing meth. We keep the business running and the money flowing. Same rules, 50-50."

"Okay."

"And we make more Ricin. When I feel like I am—" he coughs again. "Like I am suffering, I will take the poison."

"What the hell? Yo, how will I explain your death?" I asked, knowing it was a stupid question.

"I have terminal cancer. No one will question how I died."

I nodded.

"One more thing. I wish to spend my last day alone."

"Alone? That's understandable. I'll make sure you die wherever you wanna die and I'll leave you there. I'll take care of the body and everything."

"No, Jesse. Alone with you."

"With me? Okay, but why?"

"You'll do everything I ask of you?" He didn't answer my question.

"Yes, Mr. White. I will do everything you ask of me."

"Thank you, Jesse," he said, holding out his hand. I took it and I shook it. The handshake is binding and for us, it's almost intimate.

"Good. Now, please take me to see Saul." I put my shitty red car into drive, and I drove Mr. White to see Saul Goodman.

We burst through the glass doors and Saul's secretary didn't even glance at us.

"Let me guess," the secretary said. "It's important."

"Yes, we need to speak to Saul right now," Mr. White replied.

"Well, go on in. It's not like you need my permission or anything," she said sarcastically.

Mr. White threw open Saul's door to find him on the ground vibrating.

"What happened this time, amigos?" Saul asked, looking up at us.

"I'm dying, Saul," Mr. White said.

"Yeah? So? What's new?" Saul joked, chuckling.

Mr. White scowled at Saul.

"What?" Saul looked at me, confused.

"Saul, he means—he means that he's dying like, for real this time. There's nothing we can do," I answered.

"So there's no new cartel something something going on?"

"No, Saul. My cancer is back and the doctors told me that it's not even worth doing chemo. The cancer mutated and it is progressing at a very rapid rate," Mr. White explained.

Saul's eyes seemed to light up with joy, but he suppressed it quickly. "Oh no! No!" Saul cried.

Mr. White lifted an eyebrow. "Oh, shut up, Saul! Drop the act!"

Saul stopped the oh nos. "Right, well…I'll still bring flowers to your grave. Or blue meth if you prefer."

Mr. White's scowl darkened. "Neither. I want you to write up a will and help Jesse and I finish up business. Got it?"

Saul turned to me. "I thought you were out of this business?"

"Yo, I am never out," I sighed. "No matter how hard I try."

Saul shot me a look of pity. "Okay then. Walter, you explain how you want things done, and I shall get it done. Just let me get up." Saul turned off the machine and stood up to sit at his desk, a pen and notepad in front of him.

"Ahh…Where should I begin?" Mr. White mutters but then coughs.

"Yeah, that doesn't sound good," Saul said.

Mr. White ignores him. "Well, let's start with business. I want Jesse and I to keep making and selling meth for as long as we—I can. I will decide when business stops, but before we stop the business, I want Hank to catch me."

"What?!" I asked, shocked.

"Notice, Jesse, that I said _me_. Not you," Mr. White clarified. "I want everybody to know that I have been providing for my family this entire time. Hank won't arrest me. I will tell him and the rest of my family about the cancer soon. Hank is obsessed with the case of the Heisenberg. The knowledge that he solved the case and the peace of mind that comes with knowing that the blue meth will soon be off the market will be enough. Mark my words, he will be angry, he will never speak to me again, and he may tell Skyler what she already knows, maybe Marie, but he will not arrest me."

"How can you be so sure, Mr. White?"

"Because, Jesse. I know Hank. He won't arrest me."

Saul was laughing. "Okay, I am going to write that down. 'Suicide mission.' Sounds terrific, genius. Any other brilliant ideas?"

"Before we move on, I just want to emphasize that I want _Hank _to catch me. Not the DEA. And again, Jesse is not involved. Fine?"

"Sure, Mr. White," I sighed. "Whatever the hell you want."

"Thank you," he said, more to me than Saul. "I will think of a plan for that. Now, money. My debts go to Skyler."

_Yeah, bitch, _I thought.

"Junior and Holly get half of the money I made and will make. That money will be split between them and put into safety deposit boxes. They will be able to access those when they are 18 years old. Now, property—"

"Wait, wait, wait," Saul interrupted. "What about the other half?"

"You and I will discuss that some other time," Mr. White answered. He let out a hacking cough before continuing. "Now, property. Skyler gets the car wash. The condo I got when Skyler and I were separated goes to Junior. My possessions go to Skyler except for one thing that will go to Jesse."

I lifted my head, surprised. "What?"

Mr. White lifted his wrist, and I understood.

"The watch," I stated.

"Yes." Mr. White nodded and coughed a little. "The watch. Promise me."

My chest tightened. "Yeah, I promise."

"Aww…Isn't this sweet?" Saul joked. "I think I just threw up a little in my mouth. Anyways, are we good for now?"

"Yes, Saul, we are good for now. I will schedule a private meeting with you to discuss the other half of the money," Mr. White said. "Let's go, Jesse."

Mr. White and I headed out of Saul's office and went back to my car. Before I started the car, we just sat there, trying to understand what just happened and what was going to happen.

"So," I started. "I guess it's like, official now. You're-you're," I couldn't finish.

"It's not official until what we believe is going to happen, happens. But, yes. I suppose you're right. I've acknowledged the fact that I am dying and that there's nothing I can do to stop it from happening. I-I…"

"Yeah, Mr. White. I know."

He gave me a single nod in reply. "Please drive me home. I have to tell my family," he sighed. "Skyler will be overjoyed."

"Yeah, sure." I put the car in drive and drove Mr. White to his house. We kept quiet for the entire drive except for Mr. White's occasional cough, but there were words and thoughts floating around that weren't being said, and we understood everything perfectly.

The next morning, I entered the tented house to find Mr. White already hard at work. He looked normal, as normal as Mr. White can ever be anyways.

"So, uh…How did it go?" I asked him.

"How did what go?" he replied.

"Um…Telling your wife and family and all about your condition?"

"Oh. I didn't tell them."

"Okay…" I said. Mr. White didn't even look at me. He just kept walking around doing his business. "You are going to tell them eventually, right?"

He looked up at me. "Yes, yes. Eventually. I just decided that last night wasn't the best night to tell them. Plus, Skyler and I had another fight. The children are still at Hank and Marie's…Never mind."

"No, no. It's okay. You can tell me whatever you want to."

He set down the bucket of aluminum. "Jesse, do you want to come over to my house for dinner tonight? I think Skyler's making chicken."

I gave him a wary look. "Sure."

Mr. White smiled. "Great. Now, let's get to work. Time is money."

I shrugged and put on my yellow suit. Time is money.

I was at Mr. White's house eating rosemary chicken, but I didn't speak. No one spoke. It was a very awkward dinner.

"So, Mrs. White," I started. "This chicken is like, awesome. You're a great cook."

She gave me a cold look. "Thank you, Jesse."

Mr. White just stared at his plate. If he had a tail, it would be tucked between his legs.

"You're welcome...Umm…So how is the car wash doing?"

"It's fine," she answered.

"Great…How are the kids?" I asked both of them. Mrs. White was chewing so I looked at Mr. White, hoping to get a conversation going.

"Um, I hear they're doing well. I haven't seen them for a while as they're with—" Mrs. White cut him off.

"Walt…" she whispered, malice in her voice. "Don't you dare tell your lackey where our children are."

"Jesse is not my lackey," Mr. White protested.

"Lackey, minion, partner, whatever. Do. Not. Tell him where our children are."

"Oh come on! Do you really think Jesse is that dangerous? I wouldn't have invited him into our home if I thought he was a threat."

"Walt! Very recently, there were men here looking to kill your family. I don't trust anyone you associate with in this business of yours."

"It's alright, Mrs. White. I can leave if you feel—" She waved me off.

"No, Jesse. Please stay."

I sat down and said nothing. Mr. White coughed. Mrs. White glared at Mr. White.

Finally, Mr. White sighed and started to speak. "When I was a kid, my family had a dog and a cat." He stopped to see if anybody wanted to talk, but me and Mrs. White said nothing. "Anyways, my family had this dog and cat. The cat was a gray tabby we called Smokey and the dog was a chocolate lab named Hershey, after the chocolate bar. Hershey would always chase Smokey around the house so Smokey hated Hershey. She would claw and hiss at him. She just hated the dog. The dog kept chasing her though and she would bite and scratch him. It was just a mess."

Mr. White paused again, but Mrs. White and I said nothing.

"However, one night, things were different. I was sitting in the living room watching cartoons. Hershey was sitting in his dog bed. Smokey approached the dog bed cautiously, step by step, and laid down with Hershey in his bed as if to say, 'I surrender.' Hershey never chased Smokey again."

"Hmm," I said, surprised by the story.

Mrs. White just stared at Mr. White for some time, and he held her gaze.

"So what are you trying to say?" she finally said. "You surrender?"

"No," he answered. "I'm not Smokey. I'm Hershey. I need you to surrender."

She nodded slowly. "And why is that?"

"Hershey just wanted to be Smokey's friend. I just want to provide for our family. I need you to surrender now more than ever."

"Mm-hmm. Haven't I already? I launder your money. I didn't tell Hank."

"You are approaching the bed," said Mr. White. "But you have not lain down on the bed with me."

She narrowed her eyes. "No."

"Yes, Skyler. You need to surrender."

"Why?"

I couldn't stand it any longer. "He's dying!" I shouted. "Okay?"

"You're dying?"

Mr. White shot me an angry look and I glared back.

"Yes, Skyler. I found out yesterday that my cancer came back. It has mutated and it is growing rapidly. Chemo is not an option and it is most certainly terminal this time around."

"Yeah, Mrs. White," I said. "So please cut him some slack."

Her eyes widened and they glittered. A tear streamed down her face.

"Yes, Skyler. It came back," Mr. White confirmed, sadness in his voice and love in his eyes. He was glad that he was wrong. His wife is actually sad to hear this news.

But then she smiled.

Mr. White and I arrived at work at the same time the next morning. Of course, Mr. White went straight to work, not saying anything, and I did the same.

"Mr. White?" I finally said. "How are you doing?"

"Fine," he answered, pushing his glasses up his nose.

"So you're not like, upset? About what I told your wife last night?"

Mr. White stopped working to look at me. "Why did you tell her?"

"Because she needed to know. She's your wife. I thought you were going to tell her anyway, but after she attacked you and all, it just…slipped out, I guess. I'm sorry. I know it was not my news to tell."

"You're right. It was not your news to tell. I was going to handle it my way and in my own time. I was going to tell her, but last night was not the best time."

"Then why were you telling her that, that story then, huh? You wanted her to accept what you were doing to help your family and you wanted her to accept what you were doing—"

Mr. White had a coughing fit and I waited for him to stop.

"I thought you wanted her to accept what you were doing because of that," I pointed at him. "Because you have cancer and that you're going to die."

"Jesse…I wanted her to accept what I'm doing not because I'm dying, but because I am doing what I'm doing to provide for my family. I am doing what I'm doing for her and for my children. I am not the Walter White that spent his days teaching kids about covalent bonds and barely scraping by a living. I am giving them the lifestyle they should have had! Me! I wanted her to accept that this is who I am now and that I am doing what I am doing for a good reason!"

I sighed. "I know that I said I would do what you tell me to do, but haven't you already achieved what you wanted to achieve? I know you wanted to make more money than Gray Matter, but you remember what I said before, right? Do you really want meth to be your legacy?"

"You don't understand, Jesse."

"Well, then make me understand! Why don't you want to spend your time with your family if they are what you're working so hard for? You have more money than God!"

"Just cook, Jesse," Mr. White huffed.

So I did. Mr. White and I cooked all day in an imperfect silence.

For a while, things were actually boring. Mr. White and I cooked and I took the blue meth to Lydia, which she sold to the Czech Republic. We didn't discuss Mr. White's reasons for wanting to continue cooking. It was the longest period of peace Mr. White and I have had ever since we got into the meth business. His coughing grew worse with every week that passed and I would turn my head away from him every time I heard it to hide my worsening sadness.

But then Mr. White started coughing up blood.

"Whoa, Mr. White," I said. "Are you okay?"

"No," he answered, showing me his bloody hand. "Can you take me to see Saul? We all need to talk about something."

"Yeah, sure. Let's go."

I drove us to Saul's office and the secretary rolled her eyes when she saw us.

"He's in there. Go on in."

I started to walk into the office, but Mr. White stopped me. "Not yet," he said. "I need to speak to Saul on my own first."

I nodded and Mr. White went inside, hacking as he did so. I sat down on a chair and waited. Right as I sat down though, I felt this overwhelming wave of grief. It caught me by surprise so before I knew it, I was crying.

The secretary raised an eyebrow.

"Leave me alone, bitch!" I sobbed. Oh my god. I am going to lose everyone I have ever cared about because of a drug. I lost my parents, Combo, Jane, Andrea, and now Mr. White. I admit that I have never really liked Mr. White. The guy is a manipulative, prideful asshole who likes getting into trouble. However, I can't help loving him. I have always loved Mr. White and I always will because he believed in me. He has always wanted me to be a better person, to apply myself. I will always be thankful to him for that.

I was wiping away my tears when Saul beckoned me into his office.

"Okay, kid. It appears that Walter is ready to expose himself as the Heisenberg to his brother in law, which I still think is the dumbest idea ever," Saul said.

"Okay, so how are we going to do this?" I asked.

"Gale gave me a poetry book by Walt Whitman. If I leave it in the right place at the right time so that Hank will find it, he will understand that I am associated with the manufacturing of the blue meth. He will never know about Jesse's involvement."

"And you are sure that he won't arrest you or anything?" I asked Mr. White.

"I'm sure," he answered.

"Hey, whatever," Saul said. "It's your funeral."

"Precisely," Mr. White replied. "It's mine alone."

After the meeting, we drove back to the tented house, the day not quite over yet. I offered to drive Mr. White back to his house so he could rest, but Mr. White was never the restful type, at least not while we were business partners.

"So, uh. When are you gonna put the plan into action?" I asked.

"A week from today. Skyler is having everybody over for dinner," he answered.

"Oh…Good luck, I guess."

"Thank you, Jesse." He hands me a chisel. "Now break the glass."

Then he coughed up more blood.

Two days before the revealing of the Heisenberg, Mr. White and I cooked the last batch of Meth that we would ever cook together.

"Jesse," he said. "This is the last batch."

"What?" I asked, confused.

He coughed. It was a deep, gurgling cough, and it seemed to me that the cough came from somewhere else inside Mr. White. The cough did not come from his lungs or even his body, it came from some unknown place within the man.

"Tomorrow we have to get rid of everything. Hank has to believe that I am finished with Meth, that this is a thing of the past. Also, it's almost time."

I nodded. "Let's cook," I croaked.

"Let's cook," he agreed.

We cooked as we normally did, but I could see tears sliding down Mr. White's face as he mixed his chemicals. I hoped that he didn't see mine.

"I still don't understand," I said to him.

"You don't understand what?"

"Why?"

He shook his head and went back to work. I wanted to scream.

The next day, we got rid of all the equipment and had some of the _Vamanos_ guys sell off the chemicals. We broke things off with Lydia and basically shut down our business. We both couldn't believe that it was all over.

"You know what this means, Jesse?"

"What does it mean?"

"You can't cook my formula again. The formula has to disappear with me. If the blue meth appears again, then Hank will know that I did not act alone."

"Yeah, I promise. I won't cook your formula after you…you know."

Mr. White nodded and I gazed at him curiously. This request, it's not really about me getting in trouble with his brother-in-law. It's about preserving his legacy.

"You asked why," he started.

"I know, Mr. White," I said. "You did what you did because it was who you were meant to be."

"Yes," he said, walking back to his car. I didn't go back to my car though, I stood there thinking about Mr. White and how hard it will be for me to lose him and for him to lose himself. Mr. White was never the timid, weak man I knew as my chemistry teacher. Mr. White is the Heisenberg, and today, he lost his profession. What does a man do when his work is finished?

Mr. White spent his last day as the Heisenberg with his wife and kids. I wondered what he was thinking about and I wondered if his pride would get in the way of telling Hank the truth. I doubted it though, telling Hank is an act of pride. All I did that day was hang out in my house. I thought that the DEA would barge in the house any second, but they never did.

Nothing happened all day, but I got worried when nothing happened all night. I thought about calling Mr. White, but if he was with his brother-in-law, then he would know that I was involved.

I finally decided to drive over to his house to see whether something was going on. When I looked at the house from the street, I saw that there were no cars in the driveway and there were no lights on. I sat in my car for a while, thinking about what might have happened, but eventually, my phone rang, and it showed Mr. White's number.

"Yo! Where the fuck are you? Did you tell your brother-in-law? Did he arrest you?"

"No and no," he said.

"What?!"

"Jesse!" he hissed. "Listen to me!"

"Okay, but I'm serious. Where are you?"

"I'm in the hospital."

"What?!"

"Jesse!" he hissed again. "I only have so much time. Everybody's in the waiting room right now. They think I'm asleep. Hank didn't see the book, so I need to do this—" he coughed, and that triggered a fit. I held the phone away from my ear.

"It's time, Jesse. I need to take the poison. The doctors say my organs are failing and well, you heard the cough. I need to get out of this hospital, but I need to tell Hank who I am before I leave though."

"So how are we going to do that?"

"I have a plan…"

When I woke up in the morning, I went shopping for chemicals. All I needed for this particular plan was sugar, baking soda, and potassium nitrate. It was the simplest cook I had ever done. After that, I got a teenth of blue meth from Badger and I got the Walt Whitman book from Mr. White's house.

Once I had all the supplies, I drove to the hospital and sat in my car, waiting for Mr. White's call, which came in about an hour.

"Do you have the stuff?" Mr. White asked in a feeble voice.

"Yeah. I have everything. The book, the Meth, and the…" I smirked. "Element of surprise."

"Good. Everybody's in the cafeteria eating a late lunch. I'm alone. You can find me in the—" Mr. White coughed. "Oncology ICU, room 305. You're going to have to do some sneaking around, alright?"

"Yeah, stealth. Got it."

"Okay. I'll call you if something happens. Remember two things, Jesse. We're going to have to make a quick getaway, and I'm not that quick anymore. Also, you can't let anybody see you. You can't be seen carrying the book or the meth. You have a mask and bag, right?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'll help you out, and yeah, stealth."

"Good." Mr. White then hung up.

I sighed, putting on my hat, scarf, and backpack before walking into the hospital. Here goes nothing.

I made it to the oncology ward without any problems. I sat down in the waiting room, making mental notes of things. Nurses were the only people who had access to the hospital rooms. I would have to follow one through the doors. I got up from my seat and peered through the door's windows. There were a couple of security cameras, but my hat and scarf covered most of my face.

"Excuse me," someone said behind me.

I turned around to let them through the door, but I almost screamed when I saw who they were. Mr. White's wife and son along with his brother-in-law and his brother-in-law's wife.

Skyler's blue eyes widened when she saw who I was. "What the hell are you doing here, Jesse?"

"I-I-um…I came to check on Mr. White. He called me and said he was in the hospital so I came to like…pay my respects."

"Is this the Pinkman person who was selling Walter weed?" Marie asked.

"What the hell are you still doing here, kid? Leave the poor man alone! He doesn't need more weed!" the brother-in-law said. I stood there, paralyzed. "Go on!" he shouted. "Git!"

"The nerve!" his wife exclaimed.

So I "git". I called Mr. White once out of the waiting room.

"Yes?"

"Mr. White, they—your family," I stammered.

"What?" he asked. "Oh shit!" he hissed, hanging up.

My brain was trying to find some sort of solution to this problem, but there wasn't a solution. They saw me. There was no way I could help Mr. White without getting caught myself.

Wait…

I went to the gift shop and bought a gift bag, some tissue paper, a card, and flowers. I stashed everything Mr. White needed to carry out his plan in the gift bag and I wrote on the card, "I hope you like your gift bag, and that you're up on your feet soon." Hopefully, Mr. White would be able to make it out of the oncology ward without my help. He was a pretty resilient man.

There was also a delivery service so I gave it to them and paid them extra to ensure a quick delivery. After that, I waited outside the oncology ward to make sure I wouldn't run into Mr. White's family again.

I saw the flowers get delivered not long after I arrived. I swiped a wheelchair from the hallway and waited for Mr. White to come tumbling out of the oncology ward.

A few minutes later, the son came out into the living room looking a bit peeved. About ten minutes later, I saw smoke, which triggered the sprinklers. That was when Mr. White tumbled out of the door. I went over to seat him in the wheelchair and get us the hell out.

"Jesse. They're coming after me. Detour," Mr. White rasped. I took the emergency staircase instead of the elevator, shoving the wheelchair down the hallway. The staircase was a bitch though. Mr. White really was weak and I was half carrying him down the stairs. I was so focused on getting him down the staircase that I didn't notice the click-clacking behind us. Someone was following us.

Once at the bottom of the stairs, I saw patients pouring out of the hospital so I rushed Mr. White and I into the center of all the mayhem. We made it out of the hospital and I sighed with relief when we did. We still needed to make it to the car, which I had to park in the back. I couldn't carry Mr. White like this much longer. I scoured the crowd for an empty wheelchair and I only found ones that were occupied. I would have to jack one.

"Yo!" I said to a young man with a swollen ankle. "We really need a wheelchair. Can you live without yours for awhile?"

"Yeah, sure. Just give it back when you're finished," he answered.

"Thank you!" I helped the man out of his chair and placed Mr. White in it. I then jogged to my car with Mr. White in tow. I didn't have the energy to run. Once I got there, I put Mr. White in the front and the wheelchair in the trunk. Once I backed out of my parking space though, I was blocked by Mr. White's son. I rolled down the window.

"Yo! Get out of the way!" I honked at him.

"No! Not until Dad finally tells me what's going on!" he shouted. I paused, looking at Mr. White for help, but he wasn't sure what to do.

"Then get in the fucking car, bitch!" I told him, which is what he did. Mr. White gave me a glare. _You did not just call my son a bitch. _"Sorry," I sputtered. I then drove to the front of the hospital to give the guy his wheelchair back, but his brother-in-law and everyone were there. I decided not to risk it, but I felt horrible for that guy without a wheelchair.

I was too relieved to care much though. I couldn't believe that everything worked out. Well…Sort of. We still had to deal with Junior.


End file.
